


Mind Your (Be)Attitudes

by 61Below



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Family, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Team as Family, there's hockey in there somewhere, this is my love letter to overcoming conservative christian conditioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 02:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12447903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/61Below/pseuds/61Below
Summary: Family is a complicated thing, until it isn't.





	Mind Your (Be)Attitudes

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for canon-typical mental health issues too 
> 
>  
> 
> [Based on this post](http://61below.tumblr.com/post/165579558968/61below-bob-and-alicia-zimmermann-come-to-bittys)

Suzanne’s throat tightened when Dicky slung his duffle into the passenger seat of his old pick up, and the sound of the shut door shot through her like gunfire. When he turned, his face golden in the early morning light, she could see just how _much_ he’d grown—her little boy now a man. And though she was so, so proud of him, she couldn’t help but feel the grief that grated over her ribs that her son, her only baby, was moving on into his own life. He’d graduate next summer, but he wouldn’t be coming home anymore. Oh she knew he would come back to visit, but he was going to stay in the North. 

Dicky—Bitty—no, he would always be Dicky to her, saw her face, and his determined expression melted. He leaned down those scant few inches and hugged her tight. Suzanne fought back her tears. She’d already cried into his shoulder when she'd left him in his freshman dorm, but she couldn’t help but feel like this was even _more_ final, somehow. 

Dicky pressed his temple to her hair and cracked out, “Ah, Mama—” 

But then the hood slammed shut and Coach wiped his hands on a shop rag with a gruff, “Well Junior, looks good. You’ve got another three thousand miles before you’ll need another oil change, and you’ll want to remember to get winter tires on this up there. Don’t forget to—” 

Dicky cut him off with a tight hug, and Eric’s mouth snapped shut. Suzanne wiped at her overflowing eyes when she heard Dicky’s quiet, “Thanks Daddy.” Eric froze, shocked, but when Dicky started to pull away, he wrapped his arms round his son tight, and Suzanne could see Dicky’s breath rattling through him. When he pulled away, Suzanne could see a black smudge of grease on the back of Dicky’s striped tank top, but there was nothing for it now—and there wasn’t no harm in a bit of grease on a man’s shirt if he wasn’t in church, anyway. 

Dicky wiped his eyes and forced a bright smile. Then he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. A muscle ticked in his now-sharp jaw, and Suzanne’s heart froze. This—this wasn’t just him gearing up to say goodbye for the school year, this was his speech face. This was his ‘I’m quitting football and joining figure skating’ face, his ‘I’m going to a Yankee college’ face. But she couldn’t think of what announcement he’d need to make now—

He consciously stopped fiddling with his keys and lifted his chin. “Mama, Coa— _Dad._ Thank you for everything you’ve done, for your support—”

Suzanne burst out, “Of course, of _course_ , you’re our son—!”

But he held up a hand and said, voice tinged with authority for once, and oh _God_ , he was going to be a captain again— “Please let me finish. This is already so hard to say.” And he took another deep breath. Suzanne’s hands went numb. Then an almost lightness shifted over his features, like a weight lifted, or finally set down, and he said simply, “I’m gay.”

Suzanne’s ears rang in the silence. 

He went on, almost sternly, “I’ve known since I was fifteen, and I’ve been out at school, at Samwell, I mean, and it’s been—” He shut his eyes softly, his face serene even in the face of Suzanne’s howling panic. “—it’s been so good. So, I want you to know that I’m happy.”

She choked out, frantic, “But—Dicky, no! It’s—it’s so _wrong_ —” 

His warmth shuttered and his face fell. “Oh Mama, no—”

“But the Good Book—it goes against God, Dicky—”

He made a slashing motion with his hand, head shaking. “I _know_ what Pastor Dan says, but if that’s the case then so’s bacon and ceviche and my favorite cashmere-silk sweater, Mama.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he spoke over her, his voice growing stronger by the minute. “We could argue theology til the cows come home, but I know myself, and there ain’t no benevolent god that would’ve made me _me_ if that were wrong. The only thing I see’s wrong is how some folks treat folks like me. I didn’t deserve to get bullied and beaten and locked in a closet because that’s where the ‘good Christian folk’ thought that’s where I belong.” 

“—What?” Suzanne’s breath caught.

His eyes turned steely, his voice hard, as he spat, “Seventh grade. The football team. The janitor had to let me out the next morning, because no one ever came looking for me. Turns out Johnny and Clint’d told Coach I stayed over with them for a slumber party. And then you kept asking me if I was ever going to invite them over for a party of my own. I hid bruises for weeks.”

Suzanne’s ears rang. Eric still hadn’t moved. Dicky pushed his hair back from his forehead and looked away. “It doesn’t matter now. I got out. I _am_ out. And I figure now’s the time for you to know, because I’m going to be _out_ out soon. Outsports’s featuring me next month, because I’m the first out NCAA captain—” He huffed an incredulous little laugh, like he was still processing it himself. “So I’m sorry if this brings you unwanted attention. I can’t stop the good residents of Madison from reading the news, but I’ll try to get the publicist to keep the press away from you at least.”

Suzanne jerked—publicist?! But she saw his gaze flinch away from hers, flick to Eric and back to her, and his lips tightened. Then he nodded his head jerkily and awkwardly thumped his hands on his thighs. “So, that’s that. I—I’d best get going then.” He looked between them again, his whole body rigid, and he croaked, “Love you. But I want you to know that I’m in love, too. Maybe someday you’ll get to meet him. But before you do, you’ll need to understand that there's nothing different about how I feel and how you feel, how you felt when you fell in love with Coach.” He stopped when Suzanne covered her mouth with both hands, tears in her eyes, and his jaw ticked again. The pause stretched, taut and awful, til he sighed, “So, bye then.” 

He didn’t give her the chance to corral her racing thoughts, he just turned and opened his driver’s side door with its same old worn out creak, climbed in with a slam, started the truck, and drove off without looking back. 

She was frozen, rooted to the spot. Her baby, her little boy, he was—he just—he—and she’d—

Just before he turned the corner, she realized she hadn’t managed to say anything out loud, hadn’t even said goodbye, and she waved frantically, tried to do anything to get him to look back, to bring him back to her, but he didn’t see her—or he didn’t react if he did. Then he was round the bend and gone. 

\---

Eric Richard Bittle pulled into the Atkins’ gravel pit because he couldn’t see past his tears. He punched his steering wheel a few times, then dropped his forehead to the old, worn-smooth plastic and let his breathing level out. Finally, he wiped his eyes and reached for his phone, swiping it open to the last text from Jack

 **Bae [Heart Maple Leaf Book]**  
_I love you. You’re not alone._  
_No matter what, I’ve got you._

His breath hitched again, but he tapped twice to call. 

Jack picked up on the first ring, “Hey bud.”

Bitty burst into tears again.

Jack started talking, voice rough and low, “Oh mon chou, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t’ve had to face this alone—”

“N-no, sweatpea, no. You didn’t need to get messed up with all that. They just—I mean, it’s not like they were awful, they just—” He took a heaving breath and wiped his cheeks again. “Mama tried to go all preacher’s daughter on me at first, but I—oh honey, you’d’ve been so proud of how I kept my head—I just told them how they can’t pick and choose which bits to follow. I mean, you keeping kosher follows more rules’n they do, but I just—then they didn’t say anything. They-th—” his throat closed up again and he had to take a few shuddering breaths. “They just stood there, gawping, and I –I didn’t want to be the one to have to educate them. They’re grown, they can look it up themselves, if—if they want to have anything to do with me anymore.”

Jack gave out a low hmm and said, “Okay Bits. That sounds—I mean, you do what will be good for _you_ , now. I’m glad you’re-- _câlisse_ , I mean, you deserve to do what you need to do to protect yourself first, okay? I’m sorry they still need to work on some things, and I still wish you would’ve let me be there for you—”

Bitty huffed out a wet laugh. “Silly. Protecting you _is_ protecting me. Let me go all honeybadger on you. Or, actually, don’t. That was kind of the whole point of keeping you out of that line of fire, for now. If they’d gone after you, dear, they wouldn't'a been able to hold me responsible for my actions.” 

“Yes dear,” Jack suppressed his laugh. But he heard the steel in Bits’ voice and didn’t push the issue any further. 

They shared a quiet moment together, just listening to the other breathe. Eventually, Bitty sat back in his seat and sniffed. “Well then. Where were we? What time is it, now? I still want to stop at that coffee shop in Branson, I really liked what I saw on TripAdvisor, and if there’s ever a day I deserve a turtle cheesecake, it’s today—”

Jack’s laughter puffed in his ear. “Sure bud, you’d best get going then. Do you still want to listen to your Taylor Swift playlists, or would you like me to read to you for a bit before I have to meet with the trainer?” 

Bitty bit down hard on his lip at this sweet, sweet man. “—Can you read to me?” 

“Of course Bits.” And _Lord_ the warmth in that boy’s voice could melt butter. “Let me just get th—”

Bitty reached for the adapter that would broadcast his phone to the speakers, since his truck was too old to come with an aux cord plug in, while Jack’s voice changed as he walked back down the hall. The sound cut out and he quickly flicked the radio back to one of the little vacant channels, and Jack’s voice came through a little staticky, “—There was no storm gathering in the east that day, no portent of things to come. The only ominous sign from the direction of Europe was the scent of slack water wafting off the East River—”

He smiled at Jack’s choice of a feminist World War II historical fiction and rolled his old truck back onto the road, visor down to keep the rising sun out of his face. He’d be home soon. 

\---

Bitty’s eyes were sandy and his shoulders ached when he finally, _finally_ parked his truck next to Jack’s (gleaming, brand new, vaguely menacing-looking) Audi. He rested his forehead on his steering wheel for a moment after he shut off the engine, and the lack of vibration felt wrong after so long on the road. His jaw cracked on a yawn, and he finally sat back to unclick his seatbelt. As he opened his door, he saw Jack come bursting out of the stairwell, and _oh_ , that warm swell of emotion almost sunk him. 

“ _Honey—_ ” Bitty’s voice cracked, and Jack was there, lifting him out of the cab, and Bitty buried his face in the corner of Jack’s broad shoulder. It was a long time before Jack let him slide down to the ground. 

The air felt so different here. 

Jack squeezed his arms then went round to the passenger side to grab his bags, and Bitty let him carry the duffle, but he drew the line at his computer bag. Jack didn’t give in without a fight, though, so he didn’t manage to wrest it out of his hands til the elevator doors dinged shut, and that was only by distracting Jack with a searing kiss. Jack dropped the duffle to the floor and cupped his face with both hands, palms calloused and warm against his cheeks, and this, _this—_

The elevator dinged and they leapt apart. Bitty’s hand flew to his heart, but the doors just opened onto their floor. The crashing adrenaline still made him feel sick and shaky though, so he stuffed his hands in his pockets as they walked down the hallway. 

When they got to the condo, Jack just stopped. Bitty looked up at him, and he just gestured at the door handle with a secret little grin on his face. “You do the honors.” 

Bitty felt his cheeks heat as he dug into his pocket for his keys, then opened the door. 

The warm smell of cinnamon greeted them, and he turned to stare at his boyfriend. Jack tossed the duffle out of the way, then carefully, deliberately, unhooked the strap from Bitty’s shoulder and set it aside. Then he crowded Bits up against the door, brushing, “You always bake for everyone, so now it’s my turn to return the favor,” against his jaw, until Bitty squeaked and hauled him in for a kiss. 

He broke away with a gasp. “Jack Zimmermann! You are the _mmph_ —!”

Jack cut him off with another kiss and shifted his grip to lift him higher. Bitty threw his arms around his neck and twined his legs around his hips. Then Jack kissed up to his ear and whispered, “Welcome home, bud.” 

“Jack!” Bitty cried and thunked his head back against the door. 

Jack chuckled and turned away from the door, carrying Bitty into the kitchen. He set him onto the counter next to the lopsided pie and laughed when Bitty wouldn’t let him go. “Come on, let me treat you, then you need to get to bed. You’re dead on your feet.” 

“Not that dead,” Bits groused, swaying. 

“Uh-huh,” Jack humored him as he cut and served up two pieces onto a pair of the mismatched china plates that Bitty had begun collecting from flea markets last spring. Bitty just moaned around his fork, and Jack’s toes curled. 

They left the dirty plates in the sink and the bags by the door and stumbled to bed. _Their_ bed. And sleep-drunk, Bitty texted his mom:

  
_made it home sade gn_

\---

When he checked his phone the next morning, she hadn’t texted back. 

He put his phone back to sleep on the nightstand and listened to Jack’s steady, sleeping breaths for a long time.

After a while, he rolled over to kiss Jack awake, murmuring soft, “Happy birthday sweetpea, _bonne fête_ ”s against his neck, his jaw, his lips, til Jack’s rusty, “ _Merci, lapinou. Puis je—?_ ” rumbled through his chest, and they had a very good morning indeed. 

\---

Summer vacation ended and their pre-seasons began. Bitty moved back into the Haus, for a given value of ‘moved’, since half his stuff stayed in Providence. And it was weird to not have Ransom and Holster and Lardo there—it was _so_ weird, but it had been weird when Jack and Shitty hadn’t been there, too. It was beyond weird, because Bitty remembered being a frog and thinking that four years is a lifetime, but really this time was so transitory, and he kind of had a little breakdown about the passing of time. 

Nursey and Dex liveblogged his _Baby’s First Mid-life Crisis!!1!_ on the groupchat, so when Bitty next saw his phone it was filled with:

2:36 PM  
**Shitty**  
_There ya go Bits!_  
_Now we know ur a real sr!_

**Holster**  
_CORAL REEF PROTOCOL!_

**Ransom**  
_brahs get him butter stat!_ [cast iron skillet emoji]  
[…]  
3:08 PM  
**Bae [Heart Maple Leaf Book]**  
_I will personally ensure none a y’all_  
_get any pie for the rest of the month_

 **Shitty**  
_OMG PLEASE DROP A Y’ALL ON_  
_ESPN I WANT 2 SEE THEIR HEADS_ [explosion emoji]

Bitty held the Taddy Tour with Ford, but oh good gracious when did they get so _young_? He was busy explaining the inherent dangers of the green couch when he heard Nursey’s shout from above, “THE SPAWN??” He then came sprinting down the stairs, tripping at the last one, and somersaulted straight into the tallest tadpole with a very unchill yelp. The kid caught him, though, and that’s how he got the nickname Tank. 

The kegster that night was mild by SMH standards, but Bitty’s heart was in his throat the whole time. If this was how Jack had felt as captain, it was no wonder he’d been so—reluctant to join in. So he expanded Nursey Patrol into Haus Patrol, and it was agreed upon by all that they needed a rotation for a designated ~~mom friend~~ sober person. 

As captain, Bitty found it even harder to slip away to Providence this year. But having the guys’ trust meant so much to him, in so many ways, and he could tell that of _all_ people, Jack got it. So they skyped and they texted and they shared ideas about skill-building drills and how to cultivate team cohesion, and they missed each other through their screens. Bitty didn’t know that he was building a reputation as a conditioning-terror, but Jack did, and it gave him life. Bitty just vented about how these boys wouldn’t last a day under Katya. 

And while he’d never admit it to anyone, he’d been a bit worried about how the new Haus dynamic would work, since Chowder, Dex, and Nursey were one discrete unit, and Ollie and Wicks were their own. But between Haus duties and team breakfasts and practices and practices and practices, it all worked out. By the time school started and they had to shop for classes that would fit with their major requirements and their hockey schedules, Bitty had more than enough on his plate to keep busy. 

But he was never busy enough to not know that his mama never called anymore. 

He just threw himself harder into caregiving for his new family. 

\---

By some horrible fluke of scheduling, both the Falcs and the Samwell home openers were on the same night. Shitty almost had a stroke, but Jack quietly told him and Ransom and Holster that while he expected many more openers to come, this was going to be Bits’ last year, so _he_ needed them more. And so when Bitty, centering for Ollie and Wicks, scored the game-winning goal off a _beautiful_ round of tic-tac-toe, Faber’s rafters rang with their cheers. 

Samwell’s second game was in Providence, and practically the entire Falcs organization showed up for it, from the first line down to the front office. Carrie and Gabby sat right up on the glass with their kids in their laps, decked out in the tiniest SMH jerseys with homemade #15’s, and Jack _could. not_. Marty pulled him in for a noogie and Tater stole his fries. Fox College Sports spotted them and camped a camera crew nearby. But _then_ , during warm-ups, Bitty saw them and skated up. The kids went wild, and Bitty offered fist-bumps through the glass, and Jack ascended to a higher plane. Bitty winked at him and skated off. 

The game was incredible, but the clip of Bitty pounding down for the littlest Falconers went viral. 

And then the Outsports issue dropped, too. 

With Bitty on the cover. 

At first, they missed it, because after the game, he went straight to Jack’s for Rosh Hashanna, and they surrounded themselves with friends and good food, with Bob and Alicia skyping in from Montreal, and they were too in-the-moment to bother checking the news. But when Bitty was brushing his teeth before bed, he almost choked on his toothpaste. Jack laughed the loudest at the one where someone had edited kawaii heart-eyes and blushy-cheeks onto Bitty and the kids over the tinny strains of _We Are the Champions_. 

Bitty being the first out NCAA hockey captain was news, but Bitty being _best friends_ with Jack Zimmermann? At the same time as he was already a media darling for that adorable display with the kids? He became a sensation. Reporters crowded their games. The Swallow ran a feature trying to figure out if Bitty was a free bachelor, interviewing all the guys who’d apparently ever flirted with him. 

_”He dances like a GOD!”_

_”I know everyone always talks about his pies, but for a reason!”_

_”This one time, he tripped and all his notecards went flying, so of course I stopped to help him out, and it was like Damn! when he looks up at you with those big brown eyes, you know? But he didn’t even seem to get that I was trying to ask him out. I think he was just so dedicated to his studies, you know? [Sigh] Which makes him even dreamier, if you know what I mean.”_

Ollie and Wicks framed that interview, but Chowder and Dex took it upon themselves to ensure that the entire SMH team knew that they needed to stonewall each and every reporter _about that one thing, you know_. The new tadpoles didn’t know about Bits’ boyfriend yet, at least, but Bitty knew the rest of the team well enough by now to trust them to have his back. 

Jack bit his cheek bloody for a week answering thinly-veiled questions in post-game scrums. “Jack, what was it like to play with Eric Bittle?” “Jack, did you know about Eric Bittle’s orientation?” “Jack, what are your thoughts about Eric Bittle’s suitability as captain?” 

“He’s a great player, completely dedicated to his team.” _I love him._

“I’m proud to have played on his line.” _I love him._

“He has my absolute support, and the unanimous support of his team. He will be—he is an amazing captain.” _I love him, but I’m about to cut a bitch._

But then Jack got the text in the middle of October:

10:53 AM  
**Dex**  
_Hey so…sos?_  
_Bits is on pie #28 of the year_  
_Chowder last heard him_  
_cursing jstor but now he’s_  
_gone nonverbal_

Jack got in his car and drove north. He didn’t even knock; he just opened the front door and swept into the kitchen. He heard unfamiliar yelps from the living room, but he ignored them, focus all on Bits. The kitchen was a wreck, dirty pans in the sink, no spare counter space for all the cooling racks, no music, no headphones, but Bitty didn’t turn from rolling dough. Jack’s heart clenched, and he walked into the room. “Bitty.”

Nothing. 

Jack crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Bitty, who jumped with a little shriek. “Come on, lapinou,” Jack whispered against his ear. Bitty just shuddered and set down his rolling pin. Jack could feel him start to tremble. “Let’s get you upstairs, yeah? Let the frogs clean up for once.” But Bitty started to argue, so Jack frog-marched him up the stairs and called back to the tadpoles in the living room, “You heard me, go on.” 

They gaped, Mario Kart forgotten, then scrambled to obey. 

Jack’s chest hurt when he saw the mess of Bitty’s room, and _oh honey—_ He sat on the bed and pulled Bits into his lap, and they held each other for a long time. Finally, he asked, “What’s wrong, bud?” 

Bitty played with the fraying collar on Jack’s old t-shirt, then croaked, “I fell behind, and there’s too much. I’ll never catch up.”

Jack took a breath. “Did you try breaking your list down into smaller pieces?” 

He nodded against Jack’s shoulder, hiding his face. “It’s like, I know what I have to do, but I—I _can't_ , but know I’m just being lazy and dumb and it’s all my fault—”

“ _Hey._ ” Bitty started at his stern voice, so he consciously softened his tone. “Hey. None of that. Be gentle with yourself. You are not dumb, and you are _not_ lazy. And I _know you_ , Bits.” Bitty pressed his face harder into Jack’s shoulder, so he pressed a kiss to the top of his blonde head. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, you know? But what do you do when one of your friends feels overwhelmed?” Bitty muffled something into Jack’s shirt, and he went on, “You’re right, you help them. So if you’re feeling like it’s all too much, then why don’t you get some help?” 

Bitty let out a choked sob, and Jack’s heart broke. He pulled him even closer and started rocking. After a while, Bitty mumbled, “Atley said as much yesterday. It’s—I—I had a counselor at Madison say I needed to go on ritalin, but Coa-Coach said it was a made-up problem, that I just needed to work harder—”

Jack made a rough noise of protest. “ _Non_ , bé. That’s—I don’t even know where to begin to explain all the ways that’s wrong. Would you say that I need to ‘work harder’ to stop my panic attacks?” 

“No!” Bitty shot up with a hand on Jack’s heart. 

“Would you tell a diabetic that they just need to ‘push through—?‘” Bitty shook his head so hard he almost fell from Jack’s lap. “I'm not qualified to know for certain, but Bits, if you have ADHD, then that is a chemical imbalance in your brain, and it is certainly not a character flaw.” Jack watched his face crumple and fought down on the vicious desire to pound Coach’s face in. He just pulled Bitty back against his chest to feel the conscious, steady pace of his breath. And his brave, brave boyfriend subconsciously mirrored him. Eventually, Jack said, “Samwell has a good counselling department, Bits, and I really liked Dave W. Would you like me to see if they have any openings today?” 

After a moment that felt like forever, Bits nodded. 

Things moved quickly from there. Dave W. gave Bitty a referral to a psychiatrist right away, and it turned out that Prof. Atley had been quietly compiling all the supporting academic documentation, waiting for him to take her advice. Bits felt his eyes fill and she set down her coffee to lean over her desk. “I am so proud of you, Eric. You’ve shown so much courage and fortitude, and you really do have an innovative mind. I want you to succeed, and I don’t want something as... handle-able as this to stand in your way.” 

At first, it was hard adjusting to the meds, hard telling whether he was snappish because reasons or because of his meds, but gradually, gradually, he could tell that they were working. The swell of relief nearly swamped him.

School was still hard, but it finally felt manageable. Their games got rougher, but their team really started to click on the ice, and their points marched higher and higher. Pretty soon the media attention shifted from Bitty’s orientation to the successes of the whole team, and now he really knew why Jack kept deflecting all the praise to his teammates, because while _yes_ it was nice to be noticed, but it was infinitely better to see the team get the recognition they deserved. 

Mama and Coach still didn’t call, though. 

And then it was Parents' Weekend. Bitty knew he wouldn’t have anyone come for him, and Jack had a game of his own, but he threw himself into preparations for his teammates’ parents. It was a testament to his reign of terror that the tadpoles didn’t have to work too hard to give the Haus an extra special cleaning. Now if only he could just find a way to get rid of the green couch without facing a mutiny—

\---

Suzanne stared out at the past-peak maples and the dilapidated frat houses as Coach parallel parked the rental car, her heart in her throat. She worried again whether they were making the right choice seeing Dicky before the game, but she didn’t know if she could wait any longer, either. She remembered MooMaw’s final edict on the matter, ‘ _That boy knows his own mind, and it’s not on us to try to tell him any different. Now don’t be stubborn—because he WILL out-stubborn you—unless you really want to lose him forever._ ’ 

Eric reached over to pat her knee, and she looked over to see the tight set of his jaw. “Are you ready for this?” she asked, hesitant.

Coach nodded stiffly. “He’s our son, and that—that ain’t going to change.”

Suzanne clutched at his hand. Then she unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped onto the cracked sidewalk. 

They had to walk more than a block to get to the hockey house, and they came across a pair of older boys hauling four 24-packs of beer each, heading for the back door instead of the front. Suzanne asked them, “Hi boys, is Eric in?” They both looked at her blankly, so she added, “Bitty?” 

“Oh! Ya, sure,” one of them called with a thick Minnesotan accent. “But he’s on the warpath, so enter the kitchen at your own risk?” He shrugged to show off his beer. “But come on back, we’ll let you in.”

Suzanne’s palms began to sweat as they followed them round the crumbling side walk and up the sagging back porch, and she held the door for the boys who chirruped their thanks. The pair nodded up the hallway, then headed down to the basement. 

Eric looked around at the clean house, at the four bikes hung onto the wall in a neat set of two-by-two, at the Canadian flag in a place of honor at the foot of the stairs, and as they walked down the hall, they could hear Bitty talking. 

They turned down another hallway and stood in an open doorway, unseen. Dicky had his back to them and headphones in, and he was on the phone with someone. “—my goodness, no, that is incredibly sweet of them, but Carrie and Gabby do _not_ need to come up tonight—No, sweetpea, I know—oh my word, that is just too precious! –No, I’m at the Haus. Well, I’m up to my elbows in challah dough, but—okay okay, honey, give me a moment to get them braided quick, then let me wash my hands. And I can’t say as if I’m not glad you want to see my face, but Lord, dear, we just skyped last night—you hush now! You are too sweet to me, you know. I will be entirely spoiled—ha! _You._ Now, did I tell you that Ollie’s parents are flying in from St. Paul this year? They’re finally able to make it, and then Tank, one of the tadpoles, remember, he keeps kosher, too? His parents are taking the train down from Brooklyn. I’m having a brunch for everyone here tomorrow, so I don’t care if we do win, there will _not be a kegster here tonight—!_ ” here he raised his voice to shout up at the ceiling. 

And a muffled, “That’s what _you_ think, Bits!” drifted down. Suzanne had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. 

Dicky gently covered the loaves with a clean towel and washed his hands. Then he pulled his phone from his apron pocket and said, “There you are. Wait—what do you mean take out my headphones? _Honey._ ” 

“—nd set your phone up against the breadbox, Bits, I want to be able to see—” 

Suzanne’s breath caught, but she _couldn’t_ really be recognizing that voice, could she? 

“Sweetpea, what fresh nonsense are you— no— honey—! You already got me my oven, you got the new water heater, you can’t have any more surprises up your sleeve, Jack!” 

Then the front door opened and Bad Bob and Alicia Zimmermann came swooping in, smothering Dicky in a group hug, and over the laughter and the shouting and the crying, Suzanne could hear Jack belly-laughing over the phone.

Dicky wiped his face, crying, “Oh my goodness, _you guys—!_ You didn’t have to come all this way!” 

“Family is _family_ , son.” Bob cupped the back of Dicky’s head and pulled him back in to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“ _Oh!_ ” Suzanne couldn’t help but cry out, clutching her chest. The Zimmermanns froze, and then they turned. 

“ _Oh!_ ” Dicky cried out himself, and Lord on high, if he wasn’t her spitting image— 

And Suzanne ran into the room, arms outstretched. She heard Jack’s tinny, “Bits, what—?” But Bob just curled a protective arm around Dicky, Alicia towering next to them, and she drew up short. 

“Dicky, baby," Suzanne choked out, "I’m sorry we didn’t let you know we were coming—I’m sorry we let you go off back to school before we could get our heads right. An-and I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner, baby, we love you.” 

Dicky reached out a shakey hand, and Suzanne clutched it with both of hers. 

Eric stepped up and said gruffly, “I’m sorry it took us a while to wrap our heads around it, but you’re our son. And if it means us against the world, then I know for damn certain whose team I’m on.” 

Dicky choked on a sob and threw his arms around his daddy. 

Suzanne turned to the phone, to Jack—to her son’s _boyfriend_ — and beamed tearfully at him through the screen. “Jack, honey, it’s good to see you.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “I’ve learned to listen when my boy tells me what’s what, these days, and when he said he’s in love, I believe him. So keep being good for him.”

“Yes ma’am,” he promised. 

Bob scrubbed his hands down his face and laughed. “Well!” 

Dicky straightened and reached for a paper towel to wipe his face, then rinsed it in cold water to cover his stinging eyes. He let out a shuddering, “There’s pie in the fridge, and give me a moment to put some coffee on—“ 

But Suzanne pulled out the pie, Alicia set the coffee going, and Bob steered Dicky— _Bitty_ into a chair with a, “Let us take care of you for now, fils.” 

Eric leaned down to meet Jack’s face in the screen, neither saying anything for a moment. Finally, Eric asked, “Do you think your schedules will let you both come down for Thanksgiving? MooMaw wanted to come up, but she ain’t up for traveling these days. She’ll want to meet you, though.” 

“I’ll see what we can do, sir.” Jack smiled.

D-Bitty reached for the phone and Eric handed it to him. Then he pulled the towel from his face and told Jack, "Thank you, sweetpea. I love you so much." 

"Love you too Bits. Good luck tonight."

"Good luck to you too. Which jam are you using today?" 

"Just the classics today, strawberry, mon chou."

Bitty gave a watery laugh and said, "Good. You had a four-point game last time we tried strawberry." 

They smiled at each other softly for a long moment, then Jack said, "Bye bud." 

"Bye honey."

Suzanne had to clutch the counter at the warmth in their voices. It just convinced her even more that they were doing the right thing. 

And then Bob (Bad Bob!!) asked Bitty, "So how's your team coming along, fils?" 

She let the sound of their sports talk wash over her, resigned to her fate. Then she caught Alicia's commiserating smirk, and she huffed a little laugh. 

Suzanne hadn't expected to expand her family today, but it was so good. She cut and served up Bitty's pie.

**Author's Note:**

> Jack reads from [Lilac Girls by Martha Hall Kelly](https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/247936/lilac-girls-by-martha-hall-kelly/9781101883082) (which I have not read yet but is ON my CHRISTMAS LIST)


End file.
